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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


OUE  LITTLE  BEOWN  HOUSE ; 


|to£tn  of  MD-est  Jtotnl 


WRITTEN  FOR  THE  NEW  YEAR'S  FESTIVAL  AT  THE  CADETS'  SABBATH-SCHOOL 
OF  THE  METHODIST  EPISCOPAL  CHURCH, 


JANUARY  i,   1879, 


AND    READ    ON   THAT   OCCASION    BY 

THE  AUTHORESS,  (M.  L.  S.) 


NEW    YORK: 

PUBLISHED   BY  F.   KALKHOFF,  JR. 
I  880. 


Copyright,  by  MARIA  L.  STEWART,  1880. 


THE  Moss  ENGRAVING  Co., 

Engravers  and  Printers, 

NEW  YORK. 


PREFACE. 

These  poems  were  prepared  merely  with  the  hope  of  interesting  the  mem 
bers  of  the  Sabbath- School  before  whom  they  were  read,  and  were  not 
intended  for  publication.  At  the  urgent  request  of  many  friends,  how 
ever,  I  have  been  induced  to  present  them  to  the  public  in  their  present 
form.  M.  L.  S. 


OUR    LITTLE    BROWN    HOUSE. 
(Drawn  by  William  Erwin.) 


OUR   LITTLE  BROWN   HOUSE. 


THERE'S  a  little  brown  house  just  under  the  hill  ; 

It's  not  by  the  river,  nor  yet  by  a  rill  ; 

Its  not  on  the  green-sward  where  the  gay  and  proud  meet, 

But  it  stands  on  the  corner  of  Bandbarrack's  street. 


This  time-honored  veteran,  in  armor  complete, 
Has  stood  many  winters  the  storm  and  the  sleet — 
The  early  spring  rains  and  the  long  summer  heat, 
The  wear  and  the  tear  of  a  great  many  feet. 


It's  a  very  small  building,  and  plain  in  its  way; 
No  high-toned  paintings,  not  a  thing  that  is  gay; 
It  was  built  of  the  gun-house  of  Col  Thayer  fame, 
During  the  years  of  the  Delafield  reign. 


Our  Little  Brown  House. 

Then  came  Captain  B. — he  thought  it  all  wrong 
That  such  a  small  house  should  hold  such  a  throng  ; 
So  out  went  the  walls,  up  went  the  roof, 
And  thus  it  was  altered  and  made  large  enough. 


Then  again  it  was  altered,  with  the  door  to  the  south, 
Which  did  very  well  in  time  of  a  drought ; 
Then  Lieutenant  G.,  he  thought  it  to  better — 
He  changed  it  a  little,  but  not  to  the  letter. 


It  was  painted  without  and  papered  within  ; 
The  roof  now  is  shingles,  then  it  was  tin. 
Next  came  Colonel  B.,  a  thrifty  man — : 
He  too  had  to  lend  a  helping  hand. 


So  down  went  the  stove  and  up  went  a  heater, 
A  thing  which,  indeed,  was  very  much  neater. 
Again  it's  been  altered,  just  right,  it's  confess't, 
For  the  door  has  gone  back  again  into  the  west. 


PRESENTING     "SPOONEY    BUTTON. 
(Sketched  by  Cadet  Cameron,  Class  of  '83.) 


Our  Little  Brown  House. 

•» 

The  east  end's  been  paneled,  and  looks  very  good  ; 
The  door  has  been  covered  with  a  very  nice  hood  ; 
And  thus  it's  been  altered  again  and  again  ; 
This  time  it  was  altered  to  keep  off  the  rain. 


This  little  brown  house,  so  dear  to  each  heart, 
So  famous  in  history,  so  free  from  all  art — 
Our  hearts  with  emotion  always  will  thrill 
When  we  think  of  the  chapel  under  the  hill. 


But  where  are  the  loved  ones  we  met  here  of  yore  ? 
Their  forms  and  their  faces  we'll  see  nevermore  ; 
Their  loud,  cheery  laugh  and  swift-coming  feet 
No  more  in  the  Sabbath-school  ever  to  greet. 


Some  have  launched  out  on  the  world's  busy  tide, 

Some  have  got  married,  some  have  died, 

Some  on  the  frontier,  wading  through  strife, 

With  the  musketry's  rattle  and  the  wild  scalper's  knife. 


Our  Little  Brown  House. 

Some  by  the  camp-fires,  with  their  minds  on  the  rack, 
Eating  salt  pork  with  a  little  hard-tack, 
Wading  through  snow  or  fording  a  river, 
Or  asleep  on  the  ground  without  any  cover. 


From  the  falls  of  Missouri,  with  its  loud,  maddening  roar, 
To  the  slopes  of  Pacific,  an  ever-green  shore, 
To  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  with  a  coast  sand-bound, 
There  some  of  my  boys  are  sure  to  be  found. 


To  the  northward,  to  the  westward,  and  fair,  sunny  south, 
Like  the  dove  with  the  olive-branch  of  peace  in  its  mouth, 
Thus  they've  gone  forth  their  garlands  to  weave, 
When  they  get  through  they'll  return  with  the  sheaves. 


Some  on  the  Lone  Star,  quite  at  their  ease, 
Eating  their  rations,  doing  just  as  they  please, 
Basking  in  sunshine  among  the  sweet  flowers, 
Whiling  away  the  long,  tedious  hours. 


KOSCIUSZKO    GARDEN. 


Our  Little  Brown  House. 

From  the  St.  Lawrence  River  to  the  Rio  Grande, 
From  Puget's  Sound  to  Maine's  cold  sand, 
O'er  the  hilltops,  through  the  valleys,  never  to  lag, 
Not  a  spot  on  this  land  but  they've  planted  the  flag 


The  old  village  people — where  are  they, 
That  in  the  chapel  met  to  pray? 
The  stalwart  man  and  maiden  mild, 
The  matron  and  the  little  child, 


The  son  and  sire  side  by  side, 

As  to  the  village  church  they  hied — 

Some  are  gone  and  sweetly  rest, 

With  their  white  hands  folded  on  their  breast. 


Under  the  violet  and  the  rose, 

The  autumn  leaves  and  winter  snows, 

On  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  there  to  sleep, 

While  the  moon  and  stars  their  vigils  keep. 


Our  Little  Brown  House. 

The  man  of  God,  with  modest  mien, 
With  faltering  steps  and  looks  serene, 
As  to  the  sacred  desk  they  knelt 
And  poured  forth  what  their  spirits  felt, 


Their  hearts  went  up  with  pure  desire, 
While  on  the  altar  burned  the  fire  ; 
A  few  still  linger  on  the  shore. 
Veterans  of  a  holy  war. 


May  this  little  brown  house,  of  good  constitution, 
Built  on  the  classic  grounds  of  the  old  Revolution, 
The  Stars  and  the  Stripes,  the  blue  and  cadet  grey, 
Be  the  last  things  to  perish  when  time's  passed  away. 


SUPPLEMENT. 

Lines  addressed  to  the  Fourth  Class  of  '/tf-'yp. 

« 

To  the  young  gentlemen  that  are  here  with  us  now- 
To  you  and  the  rest  I  make  my  best  bow. 
Now  listen,  young  men  ;  take  heed  what  I  say  ; 
Your  time  is  coming,  it's  not  far  away. 


Be  true  to  your  trust  and  your  old  Alma  Mater ; 
Lean  firm  on  that  arm,  you'll  need  nothing  better  : 
And  to  the  young  gentlemen  of  the  Tenth  Section, 
Flee  to  the  Fourth — in  it  there's  protection. 


Perhaps  that  will  do,  but  the  Ninth,  I  am  told, 
Will  send  the  young  gentlemen  out  in  the  cold. 
There  are  three  honest  men  of  old  cadet  fame — 
Phil,  Math  and  Chem,  I  think  is  their  name. 


FLIRTATION    PATH. 
(Photographed  by  G.  W.  Pack.) 


Our  Little  Brown  House. 

These  three  honest  fellows  are  all  very  bold, 
And  are  sure  to  kick  somebody  out  of  the  fold  ; 
Then  off  goes  the  trimmings,  and  away  goes  the  grey, 
And  then  you  are  told  to  get  out  of  the  w.ay. 


Then  you'll  think  of  Flirtation  and  old  Gee's  rock, 

And  the  place  where  you  sat  with  your  Sweet  Four  O'clock  ; 

Then  you'll  think  of  the  taffy  made  over  the  gas, 

Of  the  butter  and  sugar  you  hived  from  the  mess. 


Now  when  to  the  blackboard  for  trial  you  stand, 
Keep  steady,  be  ready,  your  chalk  in  your  hand. 
Don't  think  of  failing  ;  stand  well  on  your  ground  ; 
Don't  let  it  be  said — a  rrtan  has  been  found. 


This  poem  is  respectfully  dedicated  to  the  Corps  of  Cadets,  by 

THEIR  MATERNAL  FRIEND. 


THE    BARRACKS. 
(Photographed  by  G.  W.  Pack.) 


GRAND    CELEBRATION. 

With  Pyrotechnic  Lights,  at  the  Military  Academy,   by  Santa  Claus, 
12  o'clock,    1880. 

HARK  !  what's  that  that  bursts  on  the  midnight  air  ? 
"  The  Cadets  are  loose,"  said  a  lady  fair. 
"Cadets  loose?"  echoed  her  puzzled  spouse, 

As  he  rose  in  haste  and  donned  his  clothes. 


From  "Siege  Gun  Battery"  came  a  roar 
That  echoed  back  from  shore  to  shore, 
Rumbling  along  under  old  Cro'  Nest, 
And  sunk  in  the  far-off  hills  to  rest. 


Just  at  this  juncture  came  pouring  forth 
From  every  window  in  the  north 
Of  the  Barrack  building  grim  and  gray, 
And  chased  the  moonbeams  out  of  the  way, 


Grand  Celebration. 

The  grandest  sight  that  ever  was  seen, 

Or  ever  will  be  again,  I  ween, — 

Rockets,  Roman  Candles  and  Blue  Lights  clear, 

To  welcome  in  the  glad  New  Year. 


With  the  booming  of  cannon  and  grand  "  fish-horn 
Eighteen  hundred  and  eighty  was  born  ; 
This  fine  little  fellow  was  ushered  in 
With  rocket's  roar  and  fish-horn's  din. 


What  means  this  noise  and  running  around, 
Looking  for  something  that's  not  to  be  found  ? 
For  every  door  was  relieved  of  its  handle 
By  some  friend,  of  course,  surely  not  by  a  vandal, 


To  keep  intruders  who  were  stalking  around 

From  wakening  the  boys  who  were  sleeping  so  sound, 

Dreaming  of  fish-horns  and  other  such  things 

That  Santa  Claus  always  to  the  children  brings. 


THE    COLOR    GUARD. 
(By  Cadet  Cameron,  Class  of  "83.) 


Grand  Celebration. 

Just  at  this  moment  came  a  loud  crash — 
A  window  is  broken  in  with  a  smash, 

•x 

And  a  voice  calls  out,  "  Bring  me  an  axe  !  " 
And  on  his  near  neighbor  he  levied  the  tax. 


I'll  let  him  see,  thought  the  neighbor,  who'll  lift  the  latch, 
As  he  handed  him  out  the  innocent  match ; 
The  reason  was  this,  St.  Nick  had  been  busy  an  hour  or  more, 
And  that  was  the  reason  he'd  fastened  the  door. 


'Tis  the  midnight  hour  ;  the  Long  Roll  has  beat, 
And  brought  every  boy  in  a  jiff  to  his  feet, 
In  the  area  cf  the  Barracks,  on  the  cold,  damp  ground, 
And  not  a  delinquent  is  to  be  found, 


Except  the  little  fellow  who  was  locked  in  his  room 
By  some  naughty  boy,  and  of  course  could  not  come. 
From  the  hall-ways  came  running,  all  loose  to  be  sure, 
Every  boy,  in  a  hurry  his  place  to  secure, 


Grand  Celebration. 

And  there  on  the  cold  ground,  in  the  night  air  to  stand, 
While  the  searchers  were  looking  for  things  contraband. 
In  a  room  two  Rockets  were  picked  up  by  a  scout, 
That  Santa  Claus  dropped  as  he  made  his  way  out, 


While  up  in  the  cockloft,  so  cosy  and  snug, 
Lay  the  old  brass  cannon,  like  a  "  bug  in  a  rug," 
Where  Santa  Claus  left  it  to  be  raised  up  higher, 
And  then,  after  all,  the  old  thing  hung  fire. 


What  can  be  the  matter  ?  what's  all  this  about  ? 

That  every  boy  from  his  bed  is  turned  out 

In  the  night  air  to  shiver  and  freeze, 

With  nought  on  his  feet  but  his  old  Reveilles  ? 


There  to  wait  for  a  long  half  hour 

Still  as  the  bell  in  the  old  clock  tower  ; 

The  scouts  and  the  searchers  have  all  done  their  best, 

And  the  boys  are  allowed  to  return  to  their  rest, 


MAKING    TAFFY    AFTER    TAPS. 
(Sketched  by  Cadet  Hall,  Class  of  '83.) 


Grand  Celebration. 

And  all  tumble  into  their  little  cot  beds, 

While  visions  of  "  Calling  Day"  float  through  their  heads, 

Sleeping  and  snoring  like  other  good  boys, 

For  Santa  Claus  had  filled  all  their  stockings  with  toys. 


But  lo  !  from  the  roof  comes  a  thundering  noise, 
Loud  enough  to  waken  all  of  the  boys  ; 
That  old  brass  cannon  had  crept  out  of  its  lair, 
In  the  Grand  Celebration  determined  to  share. 


From  the  roof  of  the  Barracks  dark  and  gray 
The  old  brass  cannon  blazed  away, 
Waking  the  neighbors  far  and  near, 
To  let  them  know  there  was  nothing  to  fear ; 


For  old  St.  Nick  had  done  his  work, 

And  into  his  sleigh  had  skipped  with  a  jerk  ; 

And  calling  by  name  each  tiny  reindeer, 

As  he  rode  out  of  sight  he  cried  "  Happy  New  Year." 


Dedicated  to  all  the  "Boys"  who  took  part  in  the   "Grand   Celebration,"  by 

SANTA  CLAUS. 


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